Boat, Bourbon, Basement
by dolphinsramazing
Summary: Gibbs is hiding something behind that stoic facade- a deep depression. No one expects it of the ex-Marine, but will anyone save him from himself before it's too late? No character death! Minor Tiva, which may end up as major.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first foray into solely NCIS fanfic (I have a Bones/NCIS crossover).I was falling asleep one night, and this came into my head. I've read a lot of amazing Tony angst fics, so I decided to try a Gibbs one. NO CHARACTER DEATH! Because it may seem like it. And for those of you who know of my atrocious updating, I will try and do better! By the way, subtle Tiva (which may become major because I am a romantic!)**

**~Dolphins~**

Boat. Bourbon. Basement. These three alliterative words had been his mantra for the last fifteen years. People thought that he enjoyed it, the solitude and silence, but it was an incorrect assumption, one that he could easily follow had he been in their place. Gibbs had been a very joyous, sociable child, but he had been masking his identity for so long that his innate character had actually made the transformation. But soon, his identity would be nothing more than a name in a file, and not just mentioned, like the leading officer or the suspect, but a file of his very own. The death of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

It would require no detective work, and this was sort of ironic in his mind. The thought that he had dedicated more than half his life to putting the scummiest of the scum behind bars and that his exit from the world would involve no murderer, no forensic evidence, because there would be nothing to solve except the puzzle of why, the puzzle of his mind, the key to which he had kept locked away for years. He knew that this might cause pain among his team, among his friends, few though they were. But the more important thing was that it would alleviate his pain, erase it entirely. He couldn't just come into work every day and pretend like nothing was wrong, his stony face betraying no emotion. He knew that if there had been someone, something that had ended the monotony of work, boat/bourbon/basement, and work he wouldn't be here, about to eat his gun.

In his deepest heart he knew, though, that he was grasping at straws. Not that he would admit unless under the most severe of coercion, but he believed fully in things like true love and soul mates. People barely had the luck to meet one soul mate, if that even happened, but he had had two, and he had made the fatal mistake of losing them both. Shannon was the first (and obvious) choice- the second he had laid eyes on her, he had felt his heart leap in his chest. It was an instantaneous attraction, and a deep and fulfilling love following not far behind. The feeling after their deaths had been one of his own death, that he was empty, devoid of all emotions, just a walking skeleton. He felt as if he had one purpose on the earth- to kill the man who had done this, who had eliminated his innocent wife and daughter, discarded them like they were just targets, liabilities to his drug dealing and murder. He would never see it coming. After he had killed him, he had expected a relief of sorts, but he had felt as dead as ever. He had almost killed himself then too.

He had assumed that the ache and the guilt would wane over time, that one day he could look back upon those days as the bliss they were and not as the precursor to the agonizing pain, but it had never happened. The anguish had only been numbed for some time when he had met Jenny. She was different- she was the unattainable type, always playing hard-to-get. Usually it was him who filled that role, but her rugged determination and willingness to learn ensnared his heart, slowly but surely. They had danced around each other for months, years, until fate had finally intervened and provided that first opportunity in Paris, the amorous city. They had been happy for a time, but she had made the painful decision to forgo a relationship with him to promote her budding career. They had parted ways, he thinking the whole time that he would never see her again, and that would be best for them both.

When she had magically appeared in front of him that day at NCIS, he had practically mistaken her for an apparition. Lady Fate had a cruel sense of humor with him and women. They had flirted shamelessly, and both had wanted to take the relationship to the next level, but he was holding it back. He knew he couldn't give her what she deserved. She, in all her glory, deserved someone whole, someone not broken, bent, and crippled by the past. She deserved someone who could love her the way she needed, fully and passionately. He just didn't have it in him anymore, to put himself and his well-being on the line again.

When he had heard the news of her death, a gut-wrenching agony had ripped through him, second only to the moment Marine Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs had gotten a message to the same effect. He could barely bring himself to look at her, her flawless features marred with the crimson stain of blood. When the team had returned to DC, he had gone to her house, hoping to find something of hers, something that she had used, so he could pretend, just for a second, that she was still with him, that he hadn't made the mistake of letting her slip through his fingers a second time, and this time with an impenetrable degree of permanence.

Another one of his regrets was blaming her death on Tony, who had all too easily taken the blame. He hadn't even sensed the toll this had taken on his senior agent; he was too busy wallowing in his own pool of grief. He knew that Ziva had tried to knock some sense into Tony, telling him that there was nothing he (or she) could have done, but whatever progress she made he erased.

He couldn't protect them anymore. All of "his girls" ended up dead, one way or another. Being near him was a death sentence. He had let Kate die. He had let that bastard Ari shoot her, and he hadn't even gotten his revenge. He had been satisfied that Ziva had gotten it for him, but now that he knew that it was under orders that her father had ordered her to take out the rogue agent, it didn't fulfill his conscience anymore. Paula had died on his watch, gotten blown up. And it should have been his team killed that weekend. He never got over that. And of course the aforementioned trio- Shannon, Kelly, and Jenny. Who was next? Tony? McGee? Ziva? Abby? He couldn't lose them, but he could lose himself. He was expendable.

As he pushed the barrel of the gun further into his mouth so it was almost down his throat, a voice in the back of his mind kept talking, preventing him from pulling the trigger. Right now this disconnected part of his being (or maybe it was just his conscience) was talking about his family. Not his literal, biological one that was only there for posterity's sake, but the one he had created for himself.

First was the baby, the perennial favorite, Abby, the lovable forensic scientist Goth. She was naïve to the ways of the world, spending most of her adult life in her lab, though she spent her days filtering through evidence of murder. There was McGee, who was like his youngest son, never sure of himself. He had been more confident lately, finally standing up to Tony and even taunting the older man back. Next came Ziva, the oldest daughter not in years but in maturity. The former Mossad assassin who he loved like a daughter, because her son of a bitch father certainly couldn't fill that necessary role, who had softened during her time in DC, and it wasn't a bad thing. Lastly was Tony, the man he loved like a son. He was the one he would miss the most.

Gibbs shook his head back and forth to try and rid these thoughts. _Just cold feet_, he thought. _Nothing can change your mind now. _Suddenly, he heard the crisp pattern of a knock on the door to his basement. This unnerved him more than anything. Who the hell would knock? He slowly extracted the gun from his mouth, now distracted. He yelled cautiously, "Come in!" to his mysterious guest. The tanned and smiling face of Tony DiNozzo appeared in the doorframe, and Gibbs's brow furrowed in confusion. Tony had never been one to respect his coworkers' personal space. Why would he now?

Gibbs then took in Tony's disheveled appearance- his hair was mussed up and his shirt partially untucked, his belt looped crookedly, the buckle hanging down. He slowly began to descend down the stairs.

"Boss," Tony said with trepidation once he reached the bottom of the staircase, looking into the crystal blue eyes of his mentor and hero.

"Yeah, Tony?" Gibbs questioned in his usually brusque manner, but he had a hard time keeping the quaver out of his voice. Despite his efforts to mask it, he knew Tony heard it because the younger man's face dropped.

"Boss, what's the matter?" Tony asked his concern seeming genuine. Gibbs was too much in a fog to pick up this emotion, or maybe he had just been lying to himself for too long.

"Nothing," Gibbs retorted crisply, keeping his response terse to keep his tone from shaking. His body, on the other hand, was totally out of his control and shaking like a leaf.

"Gibbs, there's something wrong. Tell me what it is," Tony said with reassurance, grabbing the older man by his shoulders.

"What did you want, Anthony? It must be important if you came here to tell me," As always, Gibbs was the master of deflecting.

"I just wanted to ask permission for me and…it doesn't matter now. You're more important, Boss." Tony said definitively.

Tony hadn't noticed that Gibbs had been slowly backing up to the table on which his tools lay. Gibbs had deftly swung his hand behind him and grabbed the gun from where he had dropped it, and pressed it against his temple. He could see the combination of shock and fear in Tony's eyes, and Tony could see the incensed look in his. Gibbs said quietly and confidently, as always "Tony, you should leave now. I don't want you to see this." He tried to maintain his composure, but the tremors that wracked through his body made the gun shake back and forth. He tried to use his other hand to keep it still, but his efforts were for naught.

"Gibbs, don't do this. Don't do this to me," Tony challenged, the raw pain evident in his voice. He grabbed for the gun, and his palm rested against the cold metal, but he couldn't break Gibbs's iron grip on the weapon. Gibbs had already drowned the Senior Field Agent out, and pulled the trigger.

**Cliffhanger! Sorry, but I want to keep people reading! Please review- I want to know what I need to work on, or just drop me a line if you like it.**

**~Dolphins~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, I know I said I'd work on the updating, and I meant it! My computer was down the entire weekend thanks to a virus, and that's my prime writing time. I was really busy this week, but today I finally had a day off and updated. Expect updates about once a week, hopefully quicker. Hope you like it!**

**~Dolphins~**

The only sound in the room was the incessant beeping of the multiple monitors dispersed throughout it and the breathing of its conscious occupant. Because of the severity of his injury, only one of the team was permitted to be in the room at a time. They had been rotating every ten minutes for the past five hours, since Gibbs had gotten out of surgery. The rotation had at this point landed on Tony, and he walked into the room diminutively, without his usual swagger. It made his legs turn to jelly to see his mentor, his hero, again helpless at his feet. And this time, the blame lay with him, and only on his shoulders, so he thought. He buried his head in his hands, and for the first time in years allowed a single tear to drip down his cheek.

The rest of the team was crowded in the small waiting room, holding hands to try and draw the strength from one another that they themselves lacked. Each member of the team had a different way of dealing with the grief that was engulfing them all at the incapacitation of their fearless leader.

Tears marred the perfect features of Abby Scuito. Her silver-haired fox was grappling with death again, and she didn't know how many brushes with mortality even he could take. What tortured her was that the injury had come from inside him, that there was a monster lurking there that none of them had known existed. The difference between this and the sinister creatures of lore was that this one only desired to hurt himself, not those around him. But what it, what he didn't know was that doing this to himself would kill those around him, if not figuratively then literally.

Ducky was prattling on, presumably to the sleeping man, about something that had happened in Scotland many years ago. After all these years, it had come to be his coping mechanism to deal with death and those close to it to speak about the good times.

McGee was doing his best to comfort Abby, but she kept pushing him away. He had thought that she would want a shoulder to cry on right now, but he was dead wrong. He had only taken a single turn in the room with Gibbs, but no one had noticed his reluctance in entering again. He couldn't stand to see the strongest man he knew like that again. The first coma had been bad enough, and he hadn't known him as well then- he had misinterpreted his apparent coldness and brisk nature as callous indifference to his team, but now he knew that it was just a defense mechanism to shelter himself. It wasn't working particularly well at this point, obviously.

Despite the different way their mental processes took them there, there was a burning question in all of their minds. How had anyone not seen his downward spiral, or tried to stop it? Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't the exuberant type to showcase his emotions clearly on his face, but there were subtle changes in personality that they should have been able to pick up on. How could a man who defied the limits of strength be weakened so much by the supposed in his own mind? How could he be so tired of the world, tired of himself that he would think to take his own life?

Tony wiped the traces of tears from his cheeks and took a good look at his boss. He had aged quite a lot in the past year. More wrinkles lined his face than ever before, and he didn't look peaceful, even in what should have been blissful sleep. His salt and pepper hair (more salt than pepper) was shaven off at the top where there was a bandage. The bullet had entered the cranium at an upward angle, pushing aside the brain tissue instead of penetrating it, saving his life. The attending doctors had informed him that the coma he was in was a shallow one and every test they performed came back with perfect brain function. According to the neurologist, he should be waking up any minute which was the reasoning behind having one of them in the room at all times. The doctors had said that it would be beneficial for him to see a familiar face when he woke up to attempt to prevent disorientation.

Suddenly, Tony was staring directly into a pair of ice-blue eyes. He called out into the hallway for a nurse or a doctor, because suddenly he was afraid to be alone in the room with Gibbs. He felt like he would see his failure staring him in the face, but another part of him felt great relief that at least he was okay, awake. An attractive female nurse jogged quickly into the room, flashing a smile at him as she did. He returned it half-heartedly- pointless flirting was the last thing on his mind right now.

Despite keeping his eyes off Gibbs, he could still feel the older man's eyes boring into him. He hadn't spoken a single word- not in love, anger, hatred, nothing. The nurse began to speak reassuringly to him, asking him simple questions like his name and occupation which he answered in a monotone. Tony tried to surreptitiously exit the room, but the nurse told him that he should stay, and he regretfully sat back in the chair. Gibbs had kept his gaze trained on Tony throughout the entire questioning, brief though it was. The nurse pronounced Gibbs "good to go" and he began to glare at Tony with even more intensity than usual.

The rest of the team was waiting patiently at the door, ready to come in, but Tony shooed them away temporarily, knowing he would have to have this conversation with Gibbs some time or another.

"Why didn't you let me do it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said with his usual abruptness.

"Because Boss…" Tony stammered, sure of his answer to the pointed question but not how to phrase it.

"Because why?" Gibbs growled.

"Because I know you don't want to die. I can help you. We can help you. You can get through this." Tony said desperately

"I'm done, Tony. Life sucks." Gibbs's anger was mounting now and he began to breathe heavily. Tony, wrapped up in his cocoon of regret, didn't even notice.

"Yeah, well life sucks for me a lot too. But you've gotta get through it." Tony said wisely. "You don't want to die." He repeated.

"Yes I do dammit!" After he uttered these irate words, his eyes rolled back into his head and he flopped onto the bed, a violent seizure ripping through his body. The heart monitor began beeping furiously, and a whole crowd of nurses and doctors ran in, almost running Tony down. As he practically ran out of the room, he could hear them saying "Paddles!" and the flat line of the heart monitor.

**I know, I have to stop with the cliffhangers. Please review- it'll help me update faster!**

**~Dolphins**


	3. Chapter 3

**Just want to say that I have absolutely no medical background and anything semi-related I've said thus far may not be true. No, I take that back. It's probably not true. I hope you enjoy! **

**Dolphins**

A young male nurse strode confidently into the waiting room where the team had barely moved from. The atmosphere was tense was tense with the trepidation they all felt but remained unspoken. A light sheen of sweat covered the man's forehead, and he pushed back his mop of curly brown hair.

"He's stable- for now." He informed them, and a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding was released.

Taking a quick glance around before continuing, the nurse went on, "He was technically dead for two minutes, but we were able to get him back, thankfully." A gasp emitted from Abby's mouth as her mind quickly processed the possible adverse mental effects of such a scenario.

"Miss, he should be fine." The nurse addressed Abby reassuringly.

"This is not fine! He is not fine! If he was fine, he wouldn't be here!" Abby blurted out, trying to compensate for her guilt by lashing out, and this poor man happened to be on the receiving end of an Abby tornado.

"That's true, but…" The new worker was clearly intimidated.

"But nothing! Stop having a mindless conversation with me and go help your patient!" She screeched, and the nurse eagerly complied, happy to depart from the seemingly insane woman.

Abby collapsed in the nearest chair, defeated and tears running down her cheeks again. Why couldn't she control herself? Everyone else seemed to have no problem with it. But this was Gibbs they were talking about. Last time he ended up in the hospital, he was thousands of miles away within days of his release. She knew that the team would be all over him after he got out of this (because he would) and he wouldn't take too kindly to that. She and Ducky had known him for the longest time out of any of the team members, and they still knew very little about him, particularly his childhood and adolescence. They had only met his father the year before, and that was only due to a case that happened to end up there. Jackson had been a charismatic, sociable man, much like the way Gibbs must have been before Shannon and Kelly had died. What she wouldn't do to reverse those events, to erase his pain. However, a little selfish part of her brain knew that if the murder of the two people he loved most hadn't happened, he wouldn't have met Mike Franks, he wouldn't have found the drive he had to put dirt bags away, and as a result wouldn't have joined NCIS and met her. Despite the times like now when he had her heart going wildly with nervousness for his well-being, she knew that life, particularly hers, was better with him in it, as that strong father figure who threatened to beat up your boyfriend. She had never had that before she met him. And now she would know what she was missing if he was gone.

"Are you fine ladies and gentlemen the team of Leroy Jethro Gibbs?" A doctor asked them politely, his well-used stethoscope resting comfortably on the paunch of his stomach.

Tony took charge and arose, his six-foot two frame towering over the small elderly doctor. "Yes, this is the NCIS Major Case Response Team. Why, may I ask?" He placed his hands on his hips as a demanding gesture.

"Mr. Gibbs is awake and asking for all of you. Considering all the trauma he's been through today, I didn't think it was a good idea for you to all enter at once, but he was obstinate and so I am allowing you to break ICU protocol." The doctor said informatively.

"Thank you, Doctor…?" Ducky responded in his Scottish drawl.

"Doctor Marquis," he responded.

"Come along." Ducky addressed the team, gesticulating for them to follow him and they heeded.

Despite extreme relief in knowing that Gibbs was physically okay and mentally acute enough to be asking for them, they were all afraid of what his emotional state might be. Tony was the most petrified, lagging along at the edge of the group, his stomach turning somersaults and seeing (and possibly aggravating) his boss again. He had led him to cardiac arrest the last time- how much worse could it get?

"Gibbs!" Abby screeched, running as fast as her impractical platforms would allow toward the man's hospital bed. She immediately threw her arms around him, holding on what seemed like for dear life. But instead of the usual fatherly tenderness he showed towards her, he laid as still as a statue, his piercing blue eyes cloudy with the effort to hide the immense pain he was in, both physically and mentally.

"Abby, you can let go now." He said after about thirty seconds, his voice monotonous and icy.

"Gibbs," Abby said emotively, her voice matching the pain in his eyes as hers filled with unshed tears.

He roughly pushed her away with his free arm, the IV inserted in his vein glowing in the fluorescent hospital lighting. She slowly stepped back, unsure of how to handle this side of his personality. She tried to assure herself that it was just the drugs they had him on, but she knew that was a lie she was telling herself to make her feel better.

McGee was quavering visibly, the team member with the weakest stomach even after all of this time. He hated everything about hospitals, particularly the sterility. He despised how patients were seen as numbers, cases, not as actual people with actual problems. He had almost gone to med school- his parents had pushed it since he was a child, but he had chickened out at the last minute. He regretted it now, wishing that he had gone through with it so at least he would have the background to know what was going on, to offer advice if necessary, to quash that feeling of helplessness he felt. But if he had gone to medical school, he probably wouldn't have joined NCIS, and that had been the best choice he had ever made. He had found a home here.

"Boss, I'm sorry…" Tony said apprehensively, breaking the stony silence enveloping the team.

"As you should be, DiNozzo," Gibbs said gruffly, not clarifying for the confused team as to what he was referring.

Tony hung his head down in shame that the boss had confirmed his biggest fear- that it was Tony's fault that he was this emotionally distraught, that he had provoked his heart attack. His bravado, that was all just an act he put on to fool the world. The truth was that most of the time he felt like an insecure little boy who never did anything right. His father had certainly reinforced that skepticism in himself, but Gibbs was one of the few who actually made him feel good about himself, that he was actually doing some good in the world, without even knowing it. Now Gibbs was telling him that he had done something wrong _again_ that had almost resulted in the death of a team member _again._ He still had the burden of Jenny's death on his shoulders, and it would be there until he died, despite Ziva's attempts to convince him otherwise.

Ziva David had seen unimaginable horrors in her time in Mossad. Suicide bombings, brutal murders, grotesque suicides, but those had all been things she was able to deal with- she could compartmentalize- seal away her subjectivity in a little box and work the case as an outside observer. Those injured could recover; their wounds could heal. It might be an uphill climb, but as long as they wanted to get there they would one day arrive at their destination.

But the sheer exhaustion that she saw on her boss's face, it unnerved her. This was a pain she wasn't capable of dealing with- a man tough enough to withstand almost everything so mentally torn apart that he was willing to take his own life. The incessant question in her mind was the same as the others', she was sure. How had she not seen it? She prided herself on being able to sense the littlest nuance in someone's character- if they were lying, if they were holding something back. Failing to notice something as simple as that could prove fatal. Serving in Mossad, and even here at NCIS, had showed her how precious life was, how it could end in the blink of an eye, the flash of a knife, the trigger of a gun. She couldn't fathom as to how someone, especially someone with morals as antiquated as Gibbs, could make the decision to take their own life. And now she was really worried about him- would he try and kill himself again? He was a smart man; he could figure out a way, even in this hospital under constant surveillance. She wanted to reach out to him, let him know he wasn't alone in this world. She had felt that way many times- when her mother died, when Tali died, when Ari died, but she had taken her rage and her pain and channeled it into her work. She figured he had been using that as a release for too long, and it stopped working. But it had been effective for years- that she knew, so maybe he just needed a new outlet for his frustration, for his pain that was unearthed a little more with each case that really got to them and was almost at the surface. Maybe he just needed someone who would listen. But that would involve him being willing to talk, and she couldn't see him opening up to anyone. That was probably why they were there right now, looking at the epitome of weakness personified in the strongest man they had ever seen.

**I apologize for the monologues, but as you can probably see I'm not particularly good at dialogue, and I like to try and get inside the characters' heads, especially since this is sort of a plotless story aside from Gibbs's angst. **

**As always, review! Please? I love any kind of feedback- constructive criticism, compliments, whatever you want to give. **

**Dolphins**


	4. Chapter 4

**After I published that final author's note (which no one probably reads) saying that this was a plotless piece, I decided I didn't like that idea and am now going to (attempt) to add somewhat of a plot. We'll see how it goes. **

**Dolphins**

Silence, particularly when it lingered, had always been something Ducky abhorred. Whether it be the result of solitude, the calm after the storm, or just plain awkwardness, he always strove to break it. That was the reason he spoke to the bodies he autopsied, not to facilitate the flow of information as he said. That was why he told those long, rambling stories (and partially because he liked the sound of his own voice). But for these past hours, he had been wracking his brain for something to say that didn't involve a psychological analysis, murder, rape or something equally morbid. As the seconds and minutes ticked on, the atmosphere in the room became increasingly tenser, and he began to fiddle with his bowtie to keep his twitching fingers occupied. The others were in the same predicament- Ziva was twisting her curly black locks around her fingers, Tony was running his hand repeatedly through his short hair, McGee was biting his nails, and Abby was fingering her studded dog collar.

Gibbs, on the other hand, had spent the last hour shifting his gaze slowly from team member to team member, his icy blue eyes so brimming with raging anger that if looks could kill they would all be lying lifeless upon the floor. He was a mess of conflicting emotions right now. One minute he would be looking at his faithful team with a mix of admiration and a fatherly love, and then it would turn into abhorrence for not catching him as he was falling, not seeing his downward spiral, and then stopping him when he fell too hard, too fast that he couldn't be saved, or so he thought.. But in the next breath he knew that he had purposely concealed it, that there was no way they could have figured it out, and if they had confronted him he would have blown them off.

The same doctor they had met earlier, Doctor Marquis, popped his head in the door, saying "It's time for everyone to leave. I've pushed the rules enough as it is." A wave of relief went through the team that they could return to their jobs, their homes, and try and forget about Gibbs for a moment. There was still that concern for his continued well-being in the back of their minds, but they did their best to ignore it. Would he try and kill himself again? They had him chained to the bed in shackles, but he was a smart man and could find an innovative method of escape. To play safe, Tony whispered this concern in the doctor's ear as he walked out. The elderly man nodded and looked skeptically at his patient. Agent Gibbs didn't seem like the imbalanced suicidal type to the good doctor, but after twenty years of practicing, nothing surprised him anymore.

The second they were all out in the hallway out of earshot of Gibbs, chaos erupted. Each of the five began to speak at once, and none could comprehend anything anyone else was saying. As a failed method to resolve the problem, they all began to talk louder. At this point, every eye in the previously quiet room was on them. A young nurse came over to the group and told them that they had to leave, and so they complied. Once reaching the parking lot, they split up to go home in their own separate cars. It had been a long ordeal, and they were all exhausted, mentally and physically.

**At an undisclosed location**

** "**There is a man called Leroy Jethro Gibbs," a man said, the name rolling off his tongue with a condescending tone.

A young associate, eager to prove himself to his hard-judging boss, nodded eagerly.

"He lives in Washington D.C.," he continued. "And works for NCIS."

At the blank looks of the man before him, the now-exasperated man elaborated, "Naval Criminal Investigative Service!"

A glimpse of recognition flickered in the older man's eyes

"I know of it," the elder said, his voice masked by a heavy accent.

"What needs to be done to him?" the other man asked, despite his age his voice childlike.

"All the information you need will be found in this," the leader said, pulling out of his desk drawer a thick manila envelope, handing it to the older of the men.

The holder ran his hands over it, and felt a bulge about halfway down. He looked at his boss, the inquiry in his eyes.

"It is a syringe filled with a chemical that you do not need to know the name of. Your target is currently incapacitated in a hospital, and all you have to do is stick this in his IV, and he will be dead in minutes." The boss informed them.

"Wait, you want us to kill him?" The naïve second man asked. He was still quite young, and he had never killed someone before.

"Yes, I want you to kill him!" The boss said irately.

The other man nodded, and the two minions obliged, their SIGs strapped to their waists and the taste of blood on their lips.

**Back in the hospital**

Gibbs had finally ceased thinking about his own problems and descended into a deep sleep. He hadn't slept like this for years, thanks to his sniper training, but he figured he was in a hospital and safe. What could happen to him here?

A few rooms away, one of the men who had been sent to kill him was changing into scrubs. He had quickly silenced the doctor who had attended to him when he had faked an injury in the ER, one whom he happened to resemble quite a bit, and hid his body in the supply closet, taking with him the doctor's ID, scrubs, and other necessary implements. He slipped the needle his boss had given him into the turquoise shirt pocket of the loosely hanging clothes he was now wearing.

A surge of adrenaline ran through his body as he thought about what he had to do. He couldn't imagine the power, the rush he would get from taking another human life. He was no novice at murder- he was in fact one of the world's most feared contract assassins, known by the singular name Thanos, Greek for death. He had been all around the world performing his "duties" as he liked to call them for various clients who didn't want to get their hands dirty. He knew he was on the radar of almost every intelligence agency in the world, but they would never catch him.

This op was different, though. His employer had requested, no demanded, that he collaborate with someone from his patron's own organization. This had unnerved Thanos- he was accustomed to solitude. He had been alone in all pursuits his entire life, and wasn't used to placing trust in anyone, especially not on such a delicate matter. But he knew there was no choice- if he wanted this contract, he had to work with this idiotic imbecile.

The boy had never stopped asking questions. Thanos found it odd, this extreme curiosity about death and the cleverest methods of delivering it. Nevertheless, he had fostered the budding interest, and he was impressed by the intelligence of the young man- it certainly superseded his own at that point in his life. He had put his foot down when it came to the actual murder, forcing the kid to stay in the getaway car, a stolen silver Porsche convertible. He had to indulge in his pleasures sometimes, and autos were a weakness of his.

He covertly slipped out of the supply closet, his sneaker clad feet making no noise on the floor, and the door shutting behind him with not even a click. He grabbed a random chart off the nurses' station, and headed toward the room he knew was that of Mr. Gibbs. He was curious about this one, he had to admit. Typically his clients gave him a whole lot more information; in fact, they usually gave him far more than he needed or wanted, particularly their motive for wanting their target dead. In this case, he didn't even know the true name of his client, and the man had gone to extra trouble to keep his identity untraceable.

Regardless, there was a job that needed to be done. He walked into the room coolly and confidently. The picture in the file of Mr. Gibbs was an excellent likeness-the grayish white Marine haircut, the aqua blue eyes, the tanned skin and fit build were all perfect matches. Unfortunately, the man was awake, forcing him to elaborate and making his job slightly harder- if ever so slightly for someone of his experience.

"Mr. Gibbs, I'm your new doctor, Mr. Locci. I've checked your chart and we need to up your pain meds. This will get them in your system quicker," Thanos said, extracting the syringe from his pocket, trying to keep his cool and confident air and not get too excited. Still, Mr. Gibbs looked skeptical.

"May I see your credentials, Doctor?" Gibbs said, slurring his words slightly.

"Of course, Mr. Gibbs," Thanos said, unclipping his ID card from his scrubs and handing it to the ailing man. He examined it for a moment, and then handed it back to the "doctor" with a nod.

Thanos then took the syringe, and after lying as to what was in it to his patient, injected it into the IV tube. In only minutes Leroy Jethro Gibbs would be dead.

The longer the doctor stayed in the room, the more Gibbs's suspicion continued to mount. There was just something off about the man, his gut was telling him. He felt like he needed to get someone in here that could see if this was a real doctor. Better safe than sorry, he thought.

He knew that if he hit one of the buttons on the heart monitor, it would go crazy and definitely get the attention of one of the nurses. Before he could make his move, the man stabbed something in his IV, and by the look on his face, it wasn't the medication he had said it was.

He could feel his eyelids growing heavy- he had been drugged. With his last bit of strength, he reached out blindly and stabbed wildly for the button, allowing his arm to go limp as he heard the sound of loud bells going off.

Nurse Emma Robertson had treated Tony Di Nozzo for the pneumonic plague what seemed like a century ago, and after watching him brush with death she had transferred to better use her services in the regional hospital. She had seen Tony when he had gone to visit his boss, and she had pitied the obviously distraught man. Still, she had felt a kinship with him, and so she had done her best to often be the nurse on call for Agent Gibbs. Now, she heard the noise of the heart monitor going wild emitting from the room, and quickly ran in. There was a man standing over the bed, and he had certainly never been there before. He had jet-black hair, piercing emerald eyes, and his clothes matched his hair. He had just withdrawn a syringe from the IV, and her gaze turned to Agent Gibbs. He was lying there prone, and she wasn't sure if he was dead or alive.

Which issue should she address first? Her patient, or the obvious security concern. She decided to do what she thought was right and try and apprehend the man who was looking for an escape. She pulled a scalpel off the table, ready to stab him if he came near her. She lunged for him, but the tip of the blade missed him by mere inches. Frantically looking for a way out, he found none and instead ran at top speed toward the large window on the wall, battering through it and shattering the glass. He was gone, and now she had to tend to the patient. She checked his neck for a pulse and was entirely relieved when she found one. He had subconsciously ripped the IV out of his arm, preventing the majority what was likely poison from entering his system. Emma could see his breathing getting deeper, and his eyes flickered open.

"Agent Gibbs, someone just tried to kill you. Do you remember?" she asked sweetly.

His eyes immediately turned to his arm where the IV was ripped out. "Of course I do. I want protection, 24/7 now. I want to live." He said.

**I tried to add some plot! Please tell me how you like it- I'm begging.**

**Dolphins**


	5. Chapter 5

**After a reader bringing the fact to my attention that "Thanatos", instead of meaning death like I thought it did (and so did Google, apparently), actually is a nickname for a name meaning "immortal". Irony, right? Said reader told me that a better option would be "Thanatos", and so I've changed all earlier ones and that will be the new name for our would-be killer. Sorry for the mistake. **

** "**How could you botch such a simple murder? I gave you absolutely everything you needed! I was told that you were the best." Thanatos' client said irately. Thanatos hung his head down in shame, his bandaged arm hanging loosely at his side. There was a jagged perforation on his left forearm that he had obtained during the course of his escape. Crashing through the window hadn't exactly been a graceful exit, albeit an effective one. His young accomplice had been idling outside the hospital, and he had jumped into the car with remarkable speed. The young man had bandaged his wound, and this made Thanatos thankful that he wasn't on his own. If he had been, he wouldn't have survived.

Even after being the hand of death at others' behests, Thanatos hadn't thought much about the possibility of his own untimely demise. There was that slim chance on every op that he could get killed, but he had decided years ago that the lucrative profit far outweighed the risk. This latest contract had been his closest brush with death, however, and he was ashamed to admit that it had stirred some fear he didn't know existed within him. Despite what people thought, he was still quite young, under thirty, and hadn't found a wife or started a family or did any of the things people usually did at his age.

Thanatos had blocked out the ranting voice of his employer at this point. The man was in part correct- he had erred, but the fault was not entirely his. Most victims were not keen or aware enough to stop their own murder in its tracks, especially not such a well-executed one. He was now extremely intrigued about Mr. Gibbs, who had to be an exceptional sort of man to survive. Thanatos was an incredibly convincing liar, and Mr. Gibbs had obviously seen right through his falsehoods, or at least been wary enough to sense something erroneous.

The employer was staring at Thanatos now, clearly expecting him to provide an excuse for his mistake. He simply said quietly "I'm sorry, sir." Now was not the time to pick a fight- not with someone with this much influence over so many people. His client was an important man in the world in which he lived, and the type you didn't want to get on the bad side of. He even harbored a healthy amount of fear towards him, which was wise considering the resources he had at his disposal.

"It is not okay!" the man screamed back. "I needed this man dead! And now he will be even more suspicious if I try to kill him again! Do not expect any reward for your failure and I want you to reimburse me the amount I paid you up front!"

"Of course. I hope there are no hard feelings, sir." Thanatos said tersely.

"I do not wish to hear anymore from you. Deal directly through my young associate here to recompense for the money you owe me." The client said dismissively, and Thanatos nodded politely and left the room.

"Tony, there's something you need to know." Gibbs said emotionally.

"Yeah, Boss?" Tony inquired.

"I don't want to die anymore. I guess it takes someone trying to kill me to make me value my life. But someone _is _after me, and I need you to help get me protection." Gibbs said seriously.

Tony blinked twice to make sure he was hearing his boss right. Gibbs never revealed more than was absolutely necessary, and sometimes not even that much. He had called him Tony, _and _he had shown fear. That had to be breaking a rule.

"Um…um…" Tony stammered.

"You gonna say something?" Gibbs challenged, acting more like his usual self. At this, a broad smile appeared on Tony's face.

"Yeah, Boss. I'll do whatever I gotta do." Tony drawled.

"You sound like part of the damn mob when you talk like that, DiNozzo." Gibbs said.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure my ancestors were, Boss. You've never seen my uncles, have you?" Tony asked rhetorically.

"Go back to NCIS. Try and figure out who tried to kill me. Take the team with you. I'm telling you to get a head start on this because Vance is going to pull you guys off the case as soon as he realizes you're working it. Try and make him change his mind; tell him that you will do a better job than any other team, and that's the truth." Gibbs ordered bluntly.

"Okay, Gibbs." Tony replied, and walked out of the room.

Though Gibbs rarely put it to words, he was very proud of the senior agent whom he regarded as the son he never had. The young man had grown so much, both as an investigator and person, since he had taken him on his team nine years ago. Despite his cavalier methods, he always did his part in finding the murderer, usually finding a lead by doing "good old-fashioned police work" as he called it. He had also transformed from the womanizer sleeping with a blonde bimbo every night to a man head over heels in love with a woman who could kill him with a paperclip. Yes, he knew of Tony's feelings for Ziva, and the fact that Ziva reciprocated. He had been turning a blind eye as of late, but he knew he would have to confront his two agents soon, to ensure that they would continue to keep it, whatever it was, out of the office.

Thoughts ran through his mind about who could be trying to kill him. He had wrecked a lot of lives- spouses and children of the people he arrested, people he had killed in the line of duty, the list was endless. Any one of them could have snapped, and as a result there was a huge suspect pool for his team to sift through. The person could strike again before they were found, and maybe they might be successful the second time around.

Tony joined the rest of the team in the waiting room where they sat anxiously awaiting news on Gibbs's condition.

"He's fine, doing better. He wants us to go back to NCIS and open an investigation into his attempted murder. He was very adamant," Tony said, answering the unasked question.

They all arose in synchrony except Abby, who hesitated.

"Abs, go in and see him before we leave," Tony said, exasperated.

She gave him a beaming smile and skipped off, her pigtails bouncing, to go and see Gibbs.

She opened the door and found Gibbs sleeping peacefully. She had never actually seen him asleep before- she had just assumed the copious amounts of coffee kept him awake for all hours. As she tried to quietly reach his bedside, her platform echoed on the linoleum floor and she could see his eyes flicker open.

"Sorry, Gibbs. I didn't mean to wake you." Abby said shamefully.

"Sniper reflexes, Abs. It's alright." He responded.

Abby's face lit up at his calling her "Abs". She hadn't known if she would ever hear that again.

"Are you okay, Gibbs?" Abby said cautiously. While she trusted Tony with her life, she knew that he was prone to exaggeration, especially to make people feel better.

"Yeah, doing better. How are you?" He asked with concern.

"Better now that I know you are, Gibbs." She said happily.

"Go back to NCIS now, Abby." Gibbs said stifling a yawn.

"Bye, Gibbs." Abby said quietly to the half-asleep man, and kissing him on the head left the room.

The client banged his fist on the wooden desk in front of him. He didn't usually take out his anger on people, but Thanatos had screwed up and needed to be put in his place. He needed Gibbs dead. The agent would be the first casualty of his vengeance. He had waited long enough to put his plan to action, and when he had it hadn't worked. He had put far too much effort into it for it to go wrong. Now it was time for him to formulate a new plan, and this one would have to be even more ingenious, because everyone around Gibbs would be more suspicious.

The man dialed a few buttons on his phone and called one of his officers at home. The officer was angry that his precious time with his family had been interrupted, but he tried not to show it. The client could see through his subterfuge, however, and demanded he come to his office at once. The officer's performance had been sub-par as of late, but he knew he was an incredible officer with a sharp mind.

The client absentmindedly sifted through some papers as he waited for the man to arrive. He knew that the officer only lived a few short miles away and would be there within minutes.

As he expected, in a few minutes, the officer walked in, turning on the light and throwing into relief the face behind the desk. It was that of Mossad Director Eli David.

**Duh duh duh…**

**R and R please!**

**~Dolphins**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm sooo sorry! I've been meaning to update for ages! I had finals and Regents (ugh!), and then I went on a cruise the day after that! As a treat, the chapter is longer than usual.**

Eli David had never had any qualms about using deadly force to neutralize a threat. He had unlimited resources at his disposal in his position as Mossad director. His people were among the most well-trained and lethal in the world, particularly the prestigious Kidon unit of which he in his younger days had been a part. His goal had been for his three children to fill the place he left behind, and more.

The children he had reared were naturally intelligent with good instincts, so he knew that all was necessary was the proper training, and they would be what he aspired for them to be- weapons. Eli knew that in this business, you could never truly trust another. Each person was something of an enigma because revelation was akin to weakness. Everything you said was a weapon and could consequently be used against you. Perhaps the Americans did have it somewhat right with their Miranda rights.

He had taught his children that stoicism and secrecy were a code to live by. His youngest child, Tali, had never heeded her father's advice. Thinking about her and her untimely demise brought a tear to the hardened Eli's eyes. She had, in fact, always done the opposite- a vibrant child, full of boundless energy and just simply alive, so much like her mother.

Ari, his only son, had taken his father's wishes to heart and then some. He was so adept at undercover assignments, in pretending to be someone else, that he had become a Hamas terrorist while supposedly infiltrating a cell.

That brought him to his middle child, Ziva. There was no particular word to describe her; she was stubborn and obstinate on one hand, driven and determined on the other. He had always thought her to be the most like him- wary and clever, a potent combination. She had left him, turned her back on Mossad and her Israeli heritage so she could spend the rest of her miserable life with those vile Americans. A contact in the States had told him of her citizenship ceremony and by navigating channels, he had obtained a video of it.

He wasn't sure why he did this; he thought maybe it was because he needed to see for sure, not just to take it on word of mouth. His hands had balled into fists as he saw the pride on her face, her head held high as she took her vows. She should have been ashamed! She had betrayed her country, and most of all, him, to go skipping off into the sunset with those American bastards, those NCIS agents, to have a new life. He couldn't keep the venom from lacing his voice inside his head.

Eli had watched closely as she repeatedly flicked her eyes to the two empty chairs at her side, where he supposed Agents DiNozzo and Gibbs should be sitting. These were the two that irked him the most. After he had sent Ziva on the Somali mission, from which the unfaithful child was never supposed to return from, her "friends" at NCIS had intervened and swooped in to save the day, once again. His sources told him that Gibbs had taken her captor out from a huge distance, rekindling his dormant sniper instinct. Gibbs had also become sort of a fatherly figure to her, taking the place of the father had had never been there emotionally.

DiNozzo he harbored a hatred for for the obvious reason, the unjustified killing of one of his best agents (despite the fact that he had practically gone rogue), Michael Rivkin, and for the more delicate reason of the unique relationship the man obviously shared with his daughter. Eli knew that Ziva cared about Agent DiNozzo very much, too much. So he'd decided to work his way up to the big fish, the final blow that would hurt the most.

After seeing the video, Eli had concocted this grand scheme. His goal was to hurt his daughter so badly that she would be permanently devastated. The guilt had of utterly destroying her had bothered him for a time, but he had eventually gotten over it. So he had decided to strike first at Gibbs, fast and hard, and the man being mentally unstable and in the hospital had made the job easier, or so he had thought.

Thanatos, who had supposedly been the best, had botched it, and as a token of his gratitude the man was bleeding out on the carpet with a bullet in his brain. Thanatos had tried to give back the money to his assistant, but Eli had intercepted the call and told him to come straight to his office. He was far too angry at the failure to let him go free. So he had paid the ultimate price- he had paid with his life.

Eli truly hoped the near-death of her mentor and father figure had spooked Ziva. Maybe she would make the connection- she was a smart girl. But if she didn't, he wasn't even close to done yet. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of what her reaction would be. Ah revenge, sweet revenge.

Gibbs was still in the hospital, against his express wishes, but the doctors told him that if he tried to leave AMA they would hunt him down and put him back in the damn hospital. He had been through too much trauma, and they weren't sure if he was even out of the woods yet.

He had heard rumors of his new head doctor. She was said to be quite a formidable female, and a great doctor. She had been assigned to his case only this morning. As soon as she strode into the room, her tanned skin and brown hair glowing under the incandescent lights, Gibbs's mouth dropped open in surprise, and the expression was mirrored on her face.

His doctor was none other than Jeanne Benoit. He felt a rush of mixed emotions come bubbling to surface. This woman had been through so much- the deceit and later betrayal of her lover, the death of her father. Yet she had put his senior field agent, the closest thing he had and would ever have to a son, through such agony that he wanted to tear her limb from limb. Neither of them had gotten anything but hurt and pain from their ill-fated relationship. Gibbs hated to speak ill of the dead, but that fiasco was all Jenny's fault, all stemming from her need to find the arms dealer La Grenouille, Jeanne's father.

"Agent Gibbs," Jeanne said tersely, breaking the intimidating silence.

"Dr. Benoit," he responded in kind.

She began checking his chart, her eyebrows rising in all the right places. Knowing that wo men have the ability to multitask, he asked her conversationally, "Aren't you supposed to be overseas?"

"I was," she replied, not lifting her eyes from the fascinating chart. "But I always knew that I was meant to be here in DC. It just took me a while to realize it."

She digressed, "Agent Gibbs, you never seemed like the type of man to do something like this, if Tony ever told the truth about you." Her voice took on a tender tone at the name of her ex-boyfriend. Jeanne had clearly not gotten over the relationship and moved on as he assumed Tony had, although whenever an arms dealer was mentioned, there was a faint flash of pain in his eyes.

The experience had matured the young playboy, and that made Gibbs's chest swell with pride. After all those months, all those years in the dark, it was nice to see the light- whether it be something as stupid as pride that Tony _might_ settle down.

"Well, you never really know someone, do you?" Gibbs said cryptically, trying to gauge the young woman's reaction.

"I like to think I knew Tony, at least a little," she said morosely.

"He loved you, Jeanne," Gibbs said truthfully, hoping it would reassure her.

"I like to think so," she said finally.

"So, Agent Gibbs, you've survived quite an ordeal. Attempted suicide followed by a heart attack followed by attempted murder! That's a combination I've never heard of. You must really have nine lives, Agent Gibbs," Jeanne said.

"I assume you're providing protection like I asked?" Gibbs asked coldly.

"Around the clock, two agents posted at your door," she replied quickly.

He nodded briefly to acknowledge the exchange. She began to walk out of the room before she stopped short, whipping her head around, her ponytail bouncing like some scene in a movie.

"Agent Gibbs, can you do me a favor?" Jeanne asked desperately.

"Sure," he said warily.

"If you see Tony, can you please tell him I'd like to see him? Talk to him?" She continued.

"Of course," Gibbs said courteously.

The members of the MCRT, or Team Gibbs as they liked to call themselves, plus Ducky and Abby, were huddled in a tight circle in Gibbs's basement, the cover of darkness on them. They figured it was the last place anyone would expect them to be, and therefore their safe haven for now, in case one of them was attacked.

They were making an effort to hypothesize as to who might want to kill their friend and boss and the suspects were numerous. During his illustrious career, he had put some real dirtbags away, and some had families, any of whom could decide to have their revenge years later. Not to mention his past as a sniper, and also the possibility of a serial killer choosing random targets.

The team was all doing their part to narrow down the list. McGee and Abby were going through the hate mail he had amassed over the years, thrown in a box in one of his office drawers. They had felt horrible taking it out- they felt as if they were invading his privacy.

Tony and Ziva were sifting through old case reports, looking for particularly violent arrests or resistance. Ducky was attempting to compile a psychological profile of the killer based on the method of attempted murder. They had found out that the man that Gibbs had actually seen (and had gotten caught on hospital security cameras) was a hit man, an enigmatic one named Thanatos, according to Interpol. He was wanted in seventeen countries and all for murder.

So Ducky had extrapolated that the person who hired him had much money and resources at his or her disposal but didn't like to get their hands dirty. He had a gut feeling, emulating the absent Gibbs, that it was a man behind this, a man not connected to an old case. A man with a more personal connection. As to how he knew this was beyond him.

After a few hours of fruitless work, coming to no legitimate conclusions, they decided to call it a night. Before they dispersed, Tony had a very good suggestion- it could be a killer targeting the NCIS team as a whole. He or she could strike again, through another force, at any one of them. As a safety precaution, he said that they shouldn't be alone tonight. Ducky said he'd stay with a friend from the old days who lived in the DC area, and Tony eagerly volunteered to stay with Ziva, and McGee quickly followed suit with Abby. They all headed to their respective houses and settled in for the night.

Mossad Officer Malachi Ben-Gidon stepped off the private jet and stretched his legs. The skyscrapers in Washington DC were lit up, making a beautiful sight to see. The officer wasn't worried about this, however. He had a job to do.

A slip of paper in his hand had written on it an address. It was an apartment in the DC area, in close proximity to the NCIS office. This was the address of his next target, one that according to his boss had to be eliminated quickly and untraceably, because the police here would be looking for any connection to Mossad.

He hopped in the car that was waiting for him on the tarmac and plugged in the address in his GPS. He crumpled up the paper and let it fly to the floor. The name of his target was clear and legible. The name could be useful in luring the target to open the door, to calm them down. The place he was heading was the residence of a Miss Abigail Scuito, forensic scientist extraordinaire.

**Hope you like and as always, R and R! I love feedback of any kind!**

**~Dolphins!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I have two reasons that I haven't updated in so long. One is that come on, it's summer! Who wants to be sitting inside writing when they could be outside tanning? I'm playing tons of tennis, so that pretty much takes up all my nights. **

** My second reason/excuse is sheer embarrassment. I've been taking some time to read the amazing stories on this site, and realized that my writing falls far, far short of some of the more accomplished writers. But after a while I realized that some people do seem to enjoy my work, so I swallowed my pride and will post. **

** I'm a little tentative about this chapter because action isn't really my thing, but I did my best! **

The music of Brain Matter was reverberating through Abby Scuito's small apartment, emanating from the state-of-the-art stereo system in the corner. Her black pigtails were bouncing up and down as she bobbed her head and shook her hips to the beat. She was in her element here, maybe even more so than in the "Labby" as she lovingly dubbed her lab. McGee believed that if she hadn't gone into forensics, she probably would have become a musician of some sort. She had a beautiful voice and she wasn't the type who minded having the spotlight on her. And she would have been successful, because Abby was the driven type who was successful in her every endeavor.

McGee, on the other hand, didn't share the taste of eclectic music that Abby possessed. . She had tried to drag him to a concert time and time again, but each time the job saved him from what would have been torture. His reasons varied- a big case, Gibbs was making them do paperwork, a stakeout.

Right now he was lying in the furthest spot from the music, a pillow over and under his head, trying to sleep. He had tried running on caffeine once instead of getting his beauty rest (he could hear Tony in his head making an immature joke about that one), and it had not gone well. He didn't know how Gibbs did it.

He could hear the music lower and then the distinctive clip-clop of Abby's platforms on the tile floors. "Timmy, come on in here! I'm lonely." Abby whined at him. He arose tentatively, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Okay, Abby, as long as you keep the music low. It's getting late and you do have neighbors, you know" he said threateningly, knowing that he had to pick his battles wisely with the Goth scientist.

"Fine," she huffed, and subsequently grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the other room. She grabbed the remote that controlled the stereo from a side table and McGee glared at her, thinking she was going to raise the volume despite what he had said. Instead, to his surprise, the music changed beat to a slow love song.

He asked Abby questioningly "What is this?", and her cheeks erupted in a fierce red blush. Abby didn't blush; nothing embarrassed the usually shameless forensic scientist who found it perfectly normal to talk to and name her lab equipment.

Waiting for her response, McGee stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room, his weight shifting from foot to foot. Suddenly, Abby closed the small distance between them, wrapping her arms around McGee's neck, their heights perfectly matching.

McGee was in full-blown shock mode at this point, entirely freaked out at Abby's weird behavior. She had told him she loved him, hugged him and kissed him on the cheek enough times, but he had never thought it could possibly be true love. It was just how Abby was- with no concept of personal space and appropriate behavior, and everyone, including him, loved her for it.

His musings were interrupted by the shrill sound of the doorbell ringing followed by frantic knocking on the wood door. Abby immediately extricated herself from him and skipped to the door to get it. Seconds before she was about to open it, McGee's protective instincts kicked in.

"Abby, don't open it!" he said loudly. She whipped her head around, pigtails bouncing.

"Why?" she asked innocently.

"Just back away, Abs," he said gently. He whipped his gun out from its holster and released the safety. Hey, it was better to be safe than sorry. He stuck his eye to the peephole, and it seemed to be a delivery man on the other side of the door. McGee looked back to Abby, asking her if she was expecting any deliveries.

She responded excitedly, "Yeah, my custom bowling ball is supposed to come soon!"

"Of course it is," he responded, and slowly opened the door, lowering his weapon, still apprehensive as to this late night visitor. His fear was confirmed when he suddenly felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his forehead. His eyes quickly darted around the room, trying to form some plan of escape. McGee's eyes rested on Abby's visage- she looked petrified, and he couldn't blame her. He could feel the terror eating up at his insides as he inhaled the sweet air around him, trying to savor his last breaths. He met her hazel eyes and gave her a small smile in a futile effort to alleviate her fright, that he would be fine. Surveying his surroundings, he found nothing that would allow him to prolong his life and resigned himself to his fate. His last act would be noble, as had been his life. He would save Abby.

"Abby, run!" he screamed, his voice cracking with the panic that wracked his body and dulled his senses. She shook her head defiantly, refusing to oblige and save herself.

"Abby, save yourself," he tried once more, mimicking her thoughts. She had never been the martyring type, but she wasn't going to run out of here like a coward and leave McGee to die. And who knows, this man could have an accomplice and she would be in far more danger than she was now. Now, she just felt helpless.

McGee met the eyes of his soon-to-be murderer, hoping that maybe if he connected on some level with the man, he might escape with his life. The gift of life had never seemed as precious as it did when you were about to lose it. Once he took a good look at the fellow, however, he knew that his last bit of hope was for naught.

The man had heavy brows shadowing his intense dark eyes which were entirely devoid of emotion. His olive skin looked sallow in the fluorescent lighting of the apartment; the stubble on his cheeks showed that he hadn't shaved in a few days. If McGee had to wager a guess, he would have predicated that this man was a Mossad officer. He actually seemed quite familiar- he looked more gaunt and more haunted, but this may have been the man who had been Ziva's partner on the ill-fated Somali mission

Maybe if he explained to him his relationship with Ziva, it would help matters. This was likely not the case, considering Ziva _had_ entirely abandoned Mossad and her father after her harrowing summer experience. But, hey, it was worth a shot.

"Um…I work with Ziva David at NCIS. I'm…I'm sure you know her. This must be a mistake of some kind." McGee stuttered.

"This is no mistake. It is because of her that someone is going to die. But it is not going to be you, Agent McGee. Miss Scuito is my target, not you." The man stated flatly.

To corroborate his statement, he withdrew the muzzle of the gun from McGee's forehead and he took in a large breath, sucking in the precious oxygen around him. Before he could make any sort of move, the butt of the gun collided with the back of his head, and he crumpled to the floor.

The man slowly strode up to Abby, his weapon still cocked. She hadn't been this scared since McGee's crazy stalker fan tried to kill her. Or when she was trapped inside Otto. Or when Ari shot at her. Or maybe when Mikel was stalking her. Or when Chip came at her with a knife. She really was employed in a dangerous line of work. But right now she should be focused on this man coming at her with a gun.

He took short, quick steps toward her, and she mirrored them with steps backward. She knew she was backing herself into a corner, but at least this bought her more time to think. She was well trained in self-defense, but she was no match for a trained Mossad officer. He had come to the US months ago to try and implicate Ziva in the murders aboard the Damocles.

Ziva had never divulged the intimate details, but Abby knew that it was a rigorous training process to become a Mossad officer, especially a prestigious one. To be part of the elite Kidon unit you had to be the best. Ben-Gidon likely excelled in hand to hand and weapons combat, basically telling her she had no chance of defeating him. She was as good as dead.

**I hope you liked it! Please R and R- constructive criticism or anything!**

**Dolphins**


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